caves cut out of scarped rocks, overlooking a beautiful stream. They
were clad in camel's hair and lived on a diet of brown bread, sleeping
on a straw couch.

But Martin's monks did not take altogether kindly to their mode of life.
Severus records an amusing story of their rebellion against the meager
allowance of food. The Egyptian could exist on a few figs a day. But
these rude Gauls, just emerging out of barbarism, were accustomed to
devour great slices of roasted meat and to drink deep draughts of beer.
Such sturdy children of the northern forests naturally disdained dainty
morsels of barley bread and small potations of wine. True, Athanasius
had said, "Fasting is the food of angels," but these ascetic novices, in
their perplexity, could only say: "We are accused of gluttony; but we
are Gauls; it is ridiculous and cruel to make us live like angels; we
are not angels; once more, we are only Gauls." Their complaint comes
down to us as a pathetic but humorous protest of common sense against
ascetic fanaticism; or, regarded in another light, it may be considered
as additional evidence of the depravity of the natural man.

In spite of all complaints, however, Martin did not abate the severity
of his discipline. As a bishop he pushed his monastic system into all
the surrounding country. His zeal knew no bounds, and his strength
seemed inexhaustible. "No one ever saw him either gloomy or merry,"
remarks his biographer. Amid many embarrassments and difficulties he was
ever the same, with a countenance full of heavenly serenity. He was a
great miracle-worker--that is, if everything recorded of him is true. He
cast out demons, and healed the sick; he had strange visions of angels
and demons, and, wonderful to relate, thrice he raised bodies from
the dead.